


A Close Call

by luluren



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluren/pseuds/luluren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nixon always seems to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gene’s dozing when it starts. His eyes are barely open when Captain Nixon dives headfirst into the foxhole, his shoulders bumping kind of painfully into Gene’s arm along with a nice helmet dig to the side.

There’s no complaining though because the forest is currently blowing apart and if Nixon needs to shelter in his foxhole, then so be it.

“Hey there, Doc,” Nixon says once he rights himself.

“Captain. You ok?”

Nixon grunts noncommittally and leans against Gene. “Didn’t think I was going to make it.”

Gene wants to ask if he means making it to the foxhole or making it out alive but decides at the last second that they’re kind of the same thing. So he says nothing and waits.

The call’s gonna come at some point because it always does.

A few yards away a tree bursts into flames and Gene closes his eyes against the sudden glare, listening intently for that familiar sound. He doesn’t notice Nixon pulling a flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket or the way he tips it back to take a long swallow. He does notice when Nixon pokes him on the arm though.

“Want some?” There’s a gleam in the Captain’s eye Gene has seen before, usually when Nixon is teasing Winters, but it’s never been directed at him. He opens his mouth to answer but that’s when the call comes.

_“Medic!”_

He’s out of the hole and moving towards the call, Nixon and his flask forgotten.

\---------------------------------------------------

He makes it through that shelling, and the one that comes a few hours later. It’s almost day break and he’s crouched down beside a tree, watching the sky turn from black to dark blue to dark purple. He’s waiting for that moment when it turns that crazy pink color that's not there one second, then everywhere the next – he’s thinking of the early mornings in Louisiana on his grandfather’s boat. The hot humid air, the way everything seemed to shimmer.

“Hey Doc.”

Startled, Gene turns and sees Nixon; he tips his helmet back and watches as the other man stares out across the open field.

“Captain.” He clears his throat and clutches his medic bag. “You might wanna get down, sir. Kinda close to the line out here.”

Nixon lets out a huff of air. “I had one close call already. Think I’m lucky enough for another one?”

“I don’t know, sir. But why chance it?” Gene asks, turning his gaze back towards the skyline. He has to stifle his disappointment – Nixon’s made him miss that moment when everything turns pink. He sighs.

“Here,” Nixon says, finally crouching down next to Gene and holding a flask out. “Missed your chance earlier.”

Gene eyes the flask dubiously. “Um, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Captain.”

“Why not?” He looks genuinely surprised at Gene’s refusal.

“Well, what if someone gets hit and here I am drunk?”

Nixon laughs softly, his free hand drifting up under his helmet to scratch at the dirty hair hiding underneath the metal. “My aim isn’t to get you drunk, Doc.”

“Then what _is_ your aim, sir?” Gene asks.

Nixon stays quiet for a moment, his eyes on the tree line across the way before turning to Gene. “I don’t know. Corrupt you, maybe.”

They stare at one another, Nixon’s eyes dancing and Gene’s hooded, until finally he grins and takes the flask. “You’re not gonna tell Dike, are you, sir? Or Winters?”

Nixon laughs, a low chuckle. “Dike? Are you kidding me, Roe?”

The flask is halfway to his mouth before Gene stops. “It’s not really Dike I’m worried about.”

“Dick?” Nixon laughs louder. “God, he’d love that. I should tell him you’re scared of him.”

“Not scared,” Gene insists before taking a pull from the flask. It’s some kind of whiskey and it burns burns burns as it goes down. He shivers and blindly hands the flask back, his eyes watering. “Th-thanks, Captain.”

Nixon takes another sip before stowing the flask back in his jacket pocket. “Not scared? Then what are you?”

Gene shrugs. “Guess I just don’t want to disappoint him. It’d be like lettin’ my dad down.”

Lipton emerges from a foxhole a few yards away and nods at the two men before heading towards the rear, turning back to look at them before disappearing in the fog.

“I better get back,” Nixon says, standing and turning towards Gene. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, sir.”

Nixon looks down at Gene. “You think I disappoint Captain Winters? With all the drinking?”

It’s Gene’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to disappoint Winters, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

A few nights later Gene’s curled against Heffron in his foxhole, trying to leech as much warmth as he can from the man. 

It’s fucking cold. There’s no other way to put it. 

Heffron’s passed out, his head lolling back against the wall of the foxhole, mouth open and breathing steadily. Gene lingers on those chapped lips and that jawline and – 

_No._

He distracts himself by mentally counting the supplies that are in his bag. He’ll have to resupply soon – especially if tonight is as busy as the last couple have been. 

Footsteps near the foxhole and Gene sits up, his hand resting on Heffron’s knee as if to ward off whoever it might be – they’ve driven the Germans back but the memory of them stumbling into their lines is still pretty fresh. 

But he doesn’t have to worry because it’s Nixon’s scruffy face that appears beneath the tarp. 

“You got a minute, Doc?”” he asks, his eyes surveying the scene in front of him, gaze stopping on Gene’s hand still clutching a bony knee. 

“You ok, sir?” Gene asks as he slides the blanket off while trying not to wake Heffron. 

Nixon doesn’t say anything, just holds a hand out to pull Gene up into the snowy darkness. They walk towards the rear until Nixon stops a few yards behind the closest foxhole. 

“Sir?” Gene asks, concerned that Nixon’s being so quiet but then he thrusts his left hand in front of Gene’s face and it’s pretty obvious what happened. 

“That’s one hell of a splinter, Captain,” Gene says, gently prodding at the piece of wood embedded into his palm. It makes him think of Heffron. 

“Can you dig it out?” Nixon says, his whiskey-tinted breath drifting across Gene’s face. “I tried but the damn thing just goes in deeper.”

“Ya got a light?” Gene rummages in his bag for his tweezers while Nixon produces a lighter, and they crouch behind a tree. “Stay still,” he warns as he starts pushing at the area around the splinter, trying hard not to rip Nixon’s skin any more than he has to. 

“How’d it happen?”

Nixon laughs. “Tripped over a branch and grabbed a tree to catch my balance. That’ll teach me to grab trees from now on.”

“They can be pretty dangerous,” Gene murmurs. He finally gets enough of the splinter out to use the tweezers, and pulling gently he extracts the thin piece of wood. “And there it is,” he says, handing it to Nixon. 

Gene sprinkles sulfa powder on the puncture and pulls the first bandage he finds out of his bag. 

It’s blue. 

Déjà vu sweeps over him and he stills, thinking of that morning and how cold Heffron’s hand was in his. And the guilt of knowing he was the one who caused that nasty scratch. 

This is the last piece; the last reminder he has of Renee. He doesn’t want to give it away. 

“Doc?”

The blue handkerchief should be a memorial – to the pretty nurse _and_ to Heffron – he thinks of them both every time he sees that color. 

“Gene.” Nixon says his name softly and he finally looks up, meets a pair of dark eyes beneath raised eyebrows and the shadow of a smirk on his lips. 

“Sorry,” Gene says. “I…”

Nixon lays his uninjured hand on Gene’s knee and squeezes softly. They stare at one another in the moonlight that filters through the trees and Gene doesn’t know what to say. 

“You gonna wrap it up for me, Doc?”

It only takes a second, but in that second Gene sees something in those dark eyes, a spark maybe, and he doesn’t hesitate. Carefully he wraps Nixon’s hand in that sky-blue cloth and when he’s finished, Nixon hands him the flask. He takes a sip and shudders. 

“Crazy night, isn’t it?” Nixon says as Gene hands the flask back, a flash of blue catching his eye. 

“It always is, sir.”

Nixon huffs and stands, lighting a cigarette in one smooth motion. “Why’d you volunteer, Doc?”

The question throws Gene off guard – been a long time since someone’s asked that. “Seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.”

Nixon sucks at his cigarette and steps out from behind the tree, his eyes on the darkness. “You married?”

“No, sir.”

“Thanks for patching me up, Doc,” Nixon says absent mindedly. And then he’s gone, fading into the darkness and leaving Gene wondering what the hell that was about.


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve taken Foy. Gene’s done what he can for the wounded and removed the dog tags off those that didn’t make it. The number of dead just keeps getting bigger, but it’s a relief to know it’s over for now – they’ve been staring at that damn town for weeks. 

He’s trying to rub blood off one of the dog tags, lost in his own world, when a conversation just down the street catches his attention.

“… give it to Speirs?”

“Sink can’t argue with me after watching that mess, Nix.” 

“You got what you wanted at least.”

Winters sighs. “Not the way it should’ve happened.”

“Three cheers for Army bureaucracy,” Nixon says sarcastically, and Gene imagines him raising his flask in salute. “Want to celebrate, Dick?”

“What do you think?”

Nixon laughs softly as the two men walk away. Gene peeks around the corner, watches as Nixon stows his flask back into his pocket before gently slapping Winters’ arm and pointing off into the distance at only they know what. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Later that night, sitting in a church and listening to children singing, he tries to pin point the exact moment his life was turned upside down by an oblivious red head. Was it Holland? Belgium?

It’s hard to recall the first time he saw Edward Heffron or even the first time they talked. Replacements are kept at bay for a while; it’s just how it is. And by the time he’d noticed Heffron it seemed like the man had always been around.

Maybe it was the morning of the blue bandage and cut palm. Or possibly the night he spent with Heffron and Spina curled up in a foxhole eating chocolate.

There are so many possibilities.

And all Gene knows is he’s screwed.

Heffron’s sitting next to him in the pew, his gaze on his hands, and Gene wants to reach over and cover those long, thin fingers with his, give them a reassuring squeeze.

“Gene?”

“Yeah?” He turns and meets Heffron’s gaze.

“Ya think they’ll give us a break after today? Bull said he heard Winters talking about it.” There’s a bit of hope in Heffron’s voice and it pulls at something in Gene’s stomach.

“Maybe. Hopefully.”

And then Babe slides further down in his seat, rests his head on Gene’s shoulder and Gene’s supposed to just sit here like it’s nothing? Like he doesn’t want to wrap his arm around those thin shoulders and hold on tighter? 

It’s not fair, he decides.

He sits unnaturally straight, afraid to move, and listens to Babe’s breath even out. Glancing around the small room, he finds most of the men asleep. 

Except for one.

Nixon shouldn’t even be here yet there he is. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon finds him one night in Hagenau. He has no idea how the man finds him since he’s hiding in an alcove on the roof but they don’t call Nixon the best intelligence officer for nothing, Gene reasons as the Captain slides down to sit next to him. 

They don’t speak for the longest time, just stare out at the ruined town, their shoulders and arms touching lightly. Gene wonders why Nixon always seeks him out – it just seems odd. Nixon’s a regimental S2 and Gene’s a medic. They shouldn’t have any reason to interact yet somehow they do. 

Nixon hands Gene his flask, his breath already smelling of whiskey. To look at the man, one’d never know he’s drunk. He hides it well, Gene thinks as he takes a swallow and feels that familiar burn. Their fingers brush together when Nixon takes the flask back and to Gene’s surprise, Nixon keeps a hold of his hand, skin cold. 

“I see the way you look at him,” Nixon whispers, his words just the tiniest bit slurred. “Can’t hide nothing from me, Doc.”

The world slows then freezes as Gene digests what he’s just heard. He doesn’t know what to think beyond a feeling of slow dread sliding over him. 

Nixon continues, his tone soft, as though he has no idea he’s just shattered Gene’s world. “Know how I know, Eugene? You look at him the same way I look at Winters.”

Then the world explodes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

They huddle in the alcove as mortars rain down on the town around them. It’s like the Germans were waiting for Nixon to spill his secret before punishing them both for it. 

Staying on the roof is a stupid idea but they do it anyway. Gene’s paralyzed with dread and maybe Nixon’s too drunk to move. 

It’s so messed up. 

Nixon still has a hold of his hand, though now their fingers are entwined and Gene should let go but he doesn’t. 

The attack last only a few minutes and afterwards they hear loud voices in the street below them – someone’s shouting for a medic and Gene sits up. 

“I should –” is as far as he gets before Nixon wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in, their lips colliding in a messy kiss. 

Gene’s never kissed a man before, and besides the prickling stubble rubbing against his own, it’s not much different. But his mind goes blank as they kiss and kiss and kiss, Nixon opening his mouth and making soft little noises in the back of his throat. 

Gene has a hand splayed across Nixon’s chest, the other curled into a ball against his side and he thinks about moving them, maybe sliding his fingers up into that dark, thick hair but he can’t.

“Gene –” Nixon pants, pulling back because there’s air and they’ve got to breathe it every now and then. Their foreheads rest together briefly before Gene pulls back and stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He can’t quite believe what just happened. If the taste of Nixon and whiskey wasn’t still in his mouth, he’d think it was a dream. 

“Sir –”

“Eugene –”

They both stop, eyes meeting in the darkness, waiting for the other one to speak. Neither of them do and Nixon takes a cautious step forward. 

Gene knows he should step back but he doesn’t. It’s then he realizes he’s not doing a lot of things he should recently. At least where Captain Nixon is concerned. 

Nixon reaches out, his hand once again wrapping around the back of Gene’s neck, and Gene ducks his head, wishing the man would stop while at the same time hoping he’ll keep going. So slow it doesn’t seem he’s actually moving, Nixon nudges Gene’s cheek with his nose, turning his head and searching. 

Kissing him is a bad idea – Gene knows this. But Nixon’s hands are shaking so Gene moves his head a fraction to the left and their lips meet again, and he tries not to think about the hair that isn’t red between his fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

He goes to bed that night in a daze and hard as a rock. 

Heffron’s bunk is across the room and usually Gene starts his night off stretched out on his side and staring over, but tonight he lays on his back, replaying the evening over and over. Squirming from embarrassment and a little bit of shame with a good dose of lust mixed in for good measure. 

And, if he’s being honest with himself, the lust is starting to override everything else. 

He’s got to get a hold of himself. Turning onto his side he stares at the wall and tries to think of other things that don’t include scruffy cheeks or whiskey flavored lips. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon is everywhere the next couple of days, and Gene realizes he’s been so anxious about what they did on that roof top that he forgot about Nixon knowing his secret. And conversely, knowing Nixon’s. 

Why’d Nixon tell Gene? He could’ve pointed out the way Gene looks at Heffron without implicating himself, yet he did it anyway. A sign of trust maybe? He wishes he could ask, but he can’t even seem to look the man in the eye anymore. 

Nixon doesn’t try and catch his attention though; he seems to be pretty good at pretending nothing’s happened. 

Amidst all of these conflicting, fucked up feelings, Gene still has a job to do. Finds he’s just as good pushing this away as he was pushing Heffron back when he needed to. You kind of have to, when you’ve got someone’s blood on your hands. 

One guy gets hit hauling a sack of potatoes across a street one afternoon. Gene’s on his knees beside the lifeless body, pulling at the chain around the man’s neck in search of his dog tags. He doesn’t notice Nixon come up beside him, has no idea he’s there until he speaks. 

“What was his name?”

Gene’s fingers still, the dog tags hanging limply from the chain. “Daniels,” Gene says, glancing over at Nixon. “Replacement.”

“Did you know him?” Nixon asks. 

Gene shakes his head. “No, sir. Not really. Patched him up after Foy I think.”

Nixon sighs, looking at Gene with an impassive expression. “Won’t need patching up again.” He stands and lights a cigarette. “Do me a favor and stay near by tonight, Doc.”

Gene wants to ask why but instead he just says, “Ok,” and Nixon’s expression softens just the tiniest bit before he walks away. 

A few hours later Heffron finds him in the aid station. “Didja hear?” he asks, pacing back and forth in front of Gene. “Take a goddamn prisoner. I mean, who the fuck are they kidding?”

The bandages Gene was stacking fall to the table in a heap while his stomach suddenly seizes up. “What are you talking about?”

“They picked us to go across the river and take a Kraut prisoner. Fucking pointless. And we gotta do it.” 

So this is what Nixon’s talking about – and of course Heffron’s involved. “When do you go?”

“0100. Nixon’s getting us rubber boats to get across.” Babe lights a cigarette and deflates, slouching against the wall. 

Gene wants to tell Heffron it’ll be ok, really wishes he could, but while he’s lied to a lot of men in the past year about everything being fine, he can’t lie to Babe. “Be careful,” he says instead. 

Heffron gives a half smile, looking young and tired and endearing. “I always am, you know that, Doc.”

\---------------------------------------------------

This time Gene’s the one who finds Nixon. 

Jackson’s gone, the prisoner snatch a goddamn awful success, and Gene’s seething inside. Such a stupid fucking thing – and now a nineteen year old kid is dead. And the way Heffron gaped at him, like he couldn’t believe it. 

Gene rounds a corner and smacks right into Nixon. Would’ve lost his balance if Nixon hadn’t grabbed onto his arms. 

“Whoa, Doc.” 

He steps back quickly. “Sorry, sir. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Nixon staring at Gene while Gene's eyes skip from Nixon to the wall to the ground. 

“The prisoners are talking, so Sink’s happy,” Nixon says eventually.

Gene scoffs. “You think I should care about that? After what I just saw?”

“No. You shouldn’t.” 

A headache is forming between Gene’s eyes and he just wants to go to sleep. “Sir, I –”

Nixon reaches out to grasp onto Gene’s sleeve, fingering the dirty fabric of his jacket. “It’s refreshing,” he says, smiling and smirking and being serious all at the same time. “You don’t hold anything back.”

Gene can’t think of anything to say for a second. “Refreshing, sir?”

“I’m surrounded by a bunch of ass kissers all day,” Nixon says, his fingers still playing with Gene’s sleeve. “Winters being the exception. And you too, apparently.” 

A warm feeling starts in Gene’s chest and balloons out – he’s never been compared to Winters before. And after hearing Nixon’s confession the other night, it leaves a good taste in his mouth. “Thanks, sir.”

Nixon pulls Gene into the shadows, crowding him against the wall. His hands come up to grasp at Gene's cheeks. 

“Sir –”

“Jesus, Gene,” Nixon says, exasperated, “don’t call me that when we’re doing this.” He leans in but Gene pushes him away. 

“What am I supposed to call you?” he asks, staring dubiously at Nixon. 

“I don’t know. But not that.”

Nixon doesn’t wait for a reply and instead pushes Gene’s helmet up his head, slotting his mouth over Gene’s. 

Gene doesn’t hesitate about touching him this time – feeling brave, he slides his hands up Nixon’s arms and draws him in closer. He lets out all the frustration and anger he’s accumulated over the past hour, and when Nixon slides a leg in between his, this strange sound escapes from his mouth and he pulls back, overwhelmed at all the sensations. 

“Nix,” he breathes, and the man shudders against him. “That ok?”

Instead of responding, Nixon laughs and rests his head on Gene’s shoulder for a second before stepping away. Then his entire demeanor changes and he steps further back. 

“Nix..”

Winters passes the alleyway they’ve been standing in and Gene moves further back in the shadows. Nixon doesn’t look at him when he walks away.


	5. Chapter 5

Gene’s on the roof again the next morning, waiting for the sunrise. He’s really going to see the pink color today, he’s sure of it.

He’s schooled himself so well that he hasn’t really thought about last night too much. It hadn’t hurt when Nixon walked away without speaking – he’s more bewildered by it than anything. Winters couldn’t have seen them, tucked away in the shadows like they were. 

It doesn’t matter though.

The sky’s just turning a deep purple and Gene sighs. 

Maybe it does matter. A little, anyway. 

The door to the roof opens and Gene swallows his annoyance – can he really not have a few minutes to himself?

He ignores whoever it is, but as the footsteps come closer he knows it’s Nixon. He walks with a slight shuffle that’s hard to miss. 

“Don’t know why the hell I’m awake,” Nixon says, taking a seat next to Gene. 

Not taking his eyes off the skyline, Gene smiles. “You don’t seem the type of person to be up before the sun.”

“Never saw a sunrise till the Army.” Nixon settles back, and lights a cigarette. “Never thought –”

“Shh,” Gene whispers, putting his hand on Nixon’s arm because it’s going to happen, any second. “Just watch.”

He doesn’t want to blink, wants to catch the pink rays appear and it feels important for Nixon to see it too. 

They’re staring at the sky and at first Gene doesn’t notice when Nixon curls his hand around Gene’s – it’s not until the sky turns from purple to pink in a fraction of a second that he realizes they’re holding hands. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Gene says, his voice just above a whisper. Nixon doesn’t answer so Gene tears his gaze away from the picture in front of him and turns to the other man. They stare at one another for several long moments before Nixon leans in carefully and presses his lips to Gene’s. 

It’s a sweet kiss, almost hesitant, not anything like the other ones they’ve shared. 

The kiss makes the moment Nixon walked away from him last night matter. 

“What was that for?” Gene asks once Nixon pulls back. 

Nixon shrugs, his fingers still tangled with Gene’s. “I wanted to, I guess. And it _was_ beautiful.” The same thought flashes across both of their faces and Nixon quickly elaborates. “The sky, not the … well. That wasn’t bad but I meant the sky.”

He grins – he’s never seen Nixon fumble for words. “I knew what you meant, Nix. At least I was pretty sure.”

“Call me Lew,” Nixon says suddenly, not looking at Gene. “That’s what you can call me.”

“Ok.” Gene extracts his hand from Nixon’s and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his bag. “You don’t like Nix?” he asks. 

Nixon watches Gene light his cigarette and takes a puff of his own. “Someone else calls me that.”

There’s no need to say who.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the sky turn pinker and lighter and Gene doesn’t know what to say. 

“What’s so special about Heffron?” Nixon asks suddenly. 

Gene jolts and accidentally drops his cigarette in his lap. “Shit,” he says, quickly grabbing the end of the butt before it burns a hole in his pants. Nixon’s smirking at him. “You really want to talk about this?”

“I’m guessing you don’t.” 

Gene shrugs helplessly. “I – are you drunk?”

Nixon laughs and moves to pull his flask out of his pocket. “No, but we can remedy that.”

He thinks Nixon’s kidding but he’s not and he watches, open mouthed, as Nixon takes a sip.

“Want some?” he asks, holding the flask out. Gene grimaces. “Oh c’mon, Doc. You only live once, right?”

“You really are trying to corrupt me.” But Gene takes the flask anyway and swallows a mouthful of whiskey. And perhaps it gives him the push he needs, but doesn’t really want, to talk about Heffron. 

“I don’t know what it is about him,” Gene says softly, keeping his eyes on the horizon because it’s easier to say what he’s going to say without looking at Nixon.

“I know what you mean,” Nixon sighs, stretching his legs out in front of him. “We’re sad men, aren’t we?”

Gene would agree, but he can’t really speak. 

\---------------------------------------------------

“Sink wants another go across the river tonight,” Nixon says a few minutes later, running a hand through his hair. 

“You’re joking.”

“Winters said the same thing. Sink’s showing off.” 

Gene looks over at Nixon, perplexed. “How do you stand it?”

“Vat 69,” he says simply. 

“Nice, Lew,” Gene says, laughing softly. The name sounds weird on his lips and Nixon must be thinking the same thing because he’s staring at Gene like he’s never seen him before. “What? You said to call you that.”

There's a half second beat, then Gene finds himself being dragged into Nixon’s lap, his legs straddling Nixon’s. 

“Lew, what –”

But Nixon shuts him up by covering Gene’s mouth with his own and kissing him. It’s an unexpected movement and Gene isn’t ready for it (though honestly has he ever been?) and he pushes against Nixon’s chest. 

“Christ, Gene, what?” Nixon asks, breathing heavily and raising his legs so his knees are bent and Gene’s leaning back on them. 

“You can’t just tell me there’s another raid tonight then start… doing this,” Gene says, gesturing between the two of them. “I mean, what did Winters say?”

Nixon rolls his eyes and drops his hands from where they’d been holding on tight to Gene’s hips. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Dick didn’t say much but I could tell he’s thinking something. And besides, haven’t you ever heard ‘it’s a need to know basis’ before?”

“You’re the one who mentioned it,” Gene replies indignantly. 

“I told you what you needed to know,” Nixon says, bringing his hands back to Gene’s hips and bending his legs even more so Gene has no choice but to move closer. 

Gene could say a few more things but decides he’d rather let Nixon kiss him instead. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Neither of them hear the door to the roof open; they’re completely oblivious to everything until Winters says, “Nix, you up here?”

Nixon’s got his hands up the back of Gene’s shirt, tracing patterns along his skin and making him break out in goosebumps. They’ve been going at it for a few minutes now, both hard and strung tight, and Nixon groans low in his throat when Winters speaks. 

They lock eyes and Nixon’s got this look on his face Gene can’t really decipher – it’s like he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to go. 

But he’s got to. 

“Go,” Gene breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To TheReseacher:
> 
> You've no idea how much I live for your reactions. Thanks for always being there. 
> 
> xo.


	6. Chapter 6

Gene hops into the back of the truck a few days later – they’re leaving Haguenau. No one’s quite sure where they’re going (Nixon would know but it’s not like Gene can just go up and ask him) but they’re hoping it’s somewhere quiet. 

Heffron moves down the bench, patting the seat next to him, and Gene takes a seat. “Hey, Babe.”

“Where’ve you been the last couple of days?” Heffron asks, throwing an arm around the back of the bench and lightly touching Gene’s shoulder. “Ain’t seen you around.”

“I’ve been around,” Gene says, leaning back into Heffron’s touch and figuring it’s ok because Luz has his arm around the back of Perconte’s seat. They’re just lounging. “Been busy, I guess.”

“We gotta a poll goin’ around,” Babe says, grinning at Leibgott across from them. “Where you think we’re goin’, Doc?”

Gene smiles. “Somewhere green,” he says softly. 

The men burst out laughing and that’s when Nixon catches Gene’s eye. He’s standing behind the truck, Winters a constant at his side, and Gene watches as Nixon glances at Heffron’s arm where it lays loosely against Gene’s shoulders. His eyes skip back to Gene and they stare at one another for a long, long second before Nixon turns and walks away. 

A guilty feeling rises in Gene’s throat and he swallows it back. 

Nixon knows how it is, right?

\---------------------------------------------------

They get three days of R&R and that’s when Gene gets sick. Nothing bad, just a damn cold – it’s more of an annoyance than anything. Their last night in Mourmelon Gene finally gives in, if only because Spina told him he’d knock him out with a fist to the face if he didn’t go get some sleep. 

He really feels like shit and wishes he was home. 

Collapsing on his bed, Gene burrows under the cover, hoping he’ll sweat it out and wake up feeling like himself. 

Sometime later – could be an hour or lots of them – a warm hand sliding up and down his back wakes him up. His fever addled mind wants it to be Heffron but the smell of whiskey gives away who it really is. 

“Hey, Lew,” he whispers into the dark before turning onto his back. 

“I didn’t know you were sick,” Nixon says, his tone full of apology. “How’re you feeling?”

Gene coughs into the pillow. “Been better. Also been worse so…”

Nixon frowns and after a moment runs a hand across Gene’s forehead. “Anything I can do?”

“A shot of whiskey would be nice.”

Nixon laughs. “I can certainly do that,” he says, pulling his flask out.

The whiskey burns as it goes down, and within seconds Gene’s kinda numb and feeling relief for the first time in three days. He lays his head back down on the pillow and looks blearily up at Nixon. “Thanks,” he whispers. 

“Mind if I…?” Nixon says, glancing down at the bed. 

Gene shifts over in the bed, watching as Nixon takes his boots off and slides under the cover. A horrifying thought occurs to him and he sits up, looking over at the other bed and hoping Spina’s not in it. 

“Jesus, Gene, what is it?” Nixon says, trying to push him back down. 

“Spina,” Gene whispers. “Didn’t know –”

“I made the suggestion he sleep somewhere else tonight. The doctor agreed with me,” Nixon says. “All this coughing will just keep him up.”

“Didn’t they think that’s weird coming from you?”

Nixon smirks. “A bunch of us were standing down the hallway and could hear you. I cracked a joke. Don’t worry, Gene.”

It’s still kind of troubling but he’s going to follow Nixon’s advice. “Ok, Lew.”

Nixon props his head on his hand, staring down at Gene. Gene doesn’t want to be rude but he needs to sleep. His eyelids are just starting to slide closed when Nixon lays a hand on his chest and starts fiddling with a button he finds. 

“Has Heffron been around?” His tone is light, like he’s trying to hold something back but he’s doing a terrible job of it because Gene can see right through him.

“No,” he answers, his heart rate increasing because he’s thinking about the look he got when they left Haguenau. “Does it matter?”

“It shouldn’t,” Nixon whispers so softly Gene almost doesn’t catch it. 

Gene closes it eyes, too tired and too ill to keep this conversation going. So instead he pulls Nixon down so his head’s resting on Gene’s shoulder, and cards his fingers through that dark hair. “I’m glad you’re here, Lew.”

“I want to kiss you,” Nixon says, rubbing his face against Gene’s neck. 

“You don’t want to do that,” Gene replies, smiling. “You might catch what I’ve got.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

“Something tells me you’re an awful patient so… no.”

Nixon laughs, sending vibrations through Gene’s shoulder. “As your superior office, I order you to –”

“Really?” Gene rolls his eyes and pulls gently at Nixon’s hair. 

“Didn’t think it’d hurt to try. If there’d been a chance I wouldn’t want to miss it –”

“If I let you, will you shut the hell up?” Gene interrupts him, knowing full well this was Nixon’s plan all along. 

Lifting his head and smirking, Nixon presses a soft kiss to Gene’s lips. “You taste like whiskey,” he whispers. 

“So do you.”

“Go to sleep,” Nixon says.


	7. Chapter 7

One night Nixon pulls him aside, complaining about a boil on his back. Gene thinks admirably what a great actor Nixon can be when he needs to. 

They venture into an opulent house, then an even more opulent bedroom – Gene thought his quarters were amazing but they pale in comparison to the officers’ rooms. 

“Jesus,” Gene says, turning in a circle to look at everything while Nixon locks the door. 

“You should see the hotels in Chicago,” Nixon says. He leans up against the door, smiling at Gene’s awe. “Though Germany certainly has its charms.”

“I forgot you’re a rich kid, Lew,” Gene answers, throwing an almost Nixon-like smirk his way. 

Nixon laughs, and steps into the room. “You don’t seem too concerned about my problem,” he says, changing the subject. 

It takes Gene a moment to remember. “You were telling the truth?”

“No,” he answers, smirking. “It’s just, ah... been a few weeks.”

Gene wants to ask “since what” but the way Nixon’s looking at him holds the answer. His mouth goes dry. 

Always Nixon is the one to initiate it, but this time Gene steps forward. “Maybe I should take a look at you anyway,” he says, hoping he sounds sure of himself but knowing he probably doesn’t. 

Nixon grins and opens his arms as if to say “I’m all yours.”

Since the invasion, Gene’s unbuttoned, cut or torn off men’s shirts without thinking twice about it. But this time is different – he’s not checking for bullet wounds or shrapnel and for that he’s very, very grateful. 

Nixon watches him, for once without a smirk, and pulls in a quick breath when Gene runs his hands across his shoulders to slide his shirt off. 

His skin’s so pale, Gene thinks as he presses closer. And there’s no scars, no old wounds – he can’t stop touching him. 

“No boil,” Gene whispers, grinning. 

Nixon chuckles and pushes Gene back towards the bed. “Thanks for checking, Doc.”

A clock ticks on the side table, louder than the noises that are coming from the bed but the sound fits in well. Gene concentrates on the tick-tock as Nixon straddles his hips, their groins rubbing together. Tries to match his breathing to it when Nixon presses a sloppy kiss to his shoulder and sucks hard. 

He loses track of it entirely when Nixon unbuttons his trousers and slides a warm hand inside. Then forgets it ever existed when it’s bare skin against bare skin and Nixon’s pressing down as Gene presses up and suddenly, towards the end, the tick-tock sounds again just as Gene bites down on Nixon’s earlobe. 

The tick-tock disappears again and all Gene can hear is Nixon breathing in his ear. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He thinks of Nixon a lot the next week. Can’t really get that half hour they had alone out of his mind. 

Winters is crazy for not seeing what’s in that man. For not wanting it. 

Every time Nixon looks at him it’s, well… there aren’t really words. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He hears Nixon shouting about something. It catches his attention because Nixon never shouts and he hurries towards the waiting trucks and makes his way toward the front of the small crowd.

Nixon is climbing into the back of a jeep, Winters watching with a careful expression. It takes everything Gene has not to run over there and find out what the hell is going on. 

“What happened?” Gene asks no one in particular. 

“His wife is divorcing him,” Webster replies.

Gene stares at that shock of black hair, lips numb. “I didn’t know he was married.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Gene’s walking down the street with Heffron. They’re joking about something – he can’t remember what the joke was when he thinks back later. 

Winters drives up in a jeep, screeching the brakes and coming to a stop beside Gene. 

“Get in, Doc,” he says.

Perconte is sitting in the passenger seat, the strangest expression on his face, and Nixon’s in the back. Gene doesn’t hesitate and hops in, giving Babe a brief smile before Winters takes off. He wants to ask where they’re going but no one’s talking. 

Nixon’s thigh is pressed tight against Gene’s. He turns and meets his eyes, silently asking what’s up. Nixon shakes his head.

Perconte tells Winters to turn along a dirt track running into the woods. It’s so quiet, and while Gene didn’t really inherit any sixth sense like his Grandma had, he knows something’s not right. Without thinking about it, he reaches over and lays his hand on Nixon’s knee. 

“It’s just up ahead, sir,” Perconte says, pointing at a clearing through the trees. 

Gene really thought he’d seen everything he possibly could in this war – enough to fill his nightmares for years to come. But he never expected to see what’s in front of him. 

“Jesus Christ,” Nixon breathes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Afterwards, it’s the smell he remembers so strongly. And the sound of O’Keefe crying in the bathroom. And the way they shuffled towards him, reaching out with bony arms and bony fingers and he’s never going to forget any of it. Ever. 

He can’t fall asleep that night; he can’t even close his eyes. 

It’s after midnight when he leaves his room and heads outside, using the back door so whoever’s on guard won’t see him. He knows Nixon is quartered a few houses over – he also knows this is a dumb idea because anyone could catch him but he doesn’t care. 

The house is quiet and Gene tiptoes to the room in the back. The door’s not locked and he steps inside, his eyes finding Nixon quickly. 

He’s propped himself against the mantle, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his gaze on the crackling fire. “Hey, Gene,” Nixon murmurs, not turning around. 

Gene shuts and locks the door. His entire body is shaking and he knows it’s not from the cold. He doesn’t hesitate to go for what he wants. 

Nixon sighs as Gene wraps his arms around his middle and presses back against Gene’s chest. They don’t talk because there's nothing to say.

The fire’s warmed Nixon’s front and Gene holds on tightly. He presses his forehead against the back of Nixon’s neck and feels the man shiver. 

They stand that way until the fire dies.


	8. Chapter 8

They’ve moved into Austria and the view… it sounds crazy but sometimes when he’s looking, it doesn’t seem real. The mountains are so close and so there. Like he could reach out the balcony of the room he’s staying in and touch them. 

He finds Nixon one afternoon sitting on a hill outside of town, looking at the mountains. Oddly enough, it’s Babe who mentioned where Nixon was when Gene ran into him earlier. 

Gene sits down, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. “Hey,” he says.

Nixon doesn’t look at him. 

It’s been this way for a week or so. He can’t read the man – figures he’s drunk most of the time or he’s lost it. Maybe it’s both. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Gene says, “but I’m sorry about what happened.”

“I never told you I have a wife,” Nixon replies, laughing softly. “Or had, I guess.”

Gene moves his gaze to the mountains. “What’s her name?”

“Cathy.”

It’s hard to imagine Nixon married, or with a woman. An unexpected flare of jealousy wells up and Gene has to light a cigarette in hopes it’ll go away. 

“I’m leaving for a few days,” Nixon says. And there’s something about the way he says it that has Gene alarmed. 

“Where are you going?”

Nixon smirks and finally looks at Gene. “I’m jumping into Germany.”

He doesn’t know what to say. “What?”

“Only man in the 101st with three jump wings.” He starts laughing. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“But – why?” It never occurred to him something like this could happen. And of course it’s Nixon. “You can’t do that,” he blurts out. 

He turns to Gene with raised eyebrows. “You want to tell Sink?”

“Will it help?” 

“Christ,” Nixon sighs, leaning over until he’s resting his head against Gene’s. “I’ve never met anyone like you before, Doc.”

They’ve got to be careful because anyone could come up over the hill and see them but Gene risks it anyway and tilts his head to the side to kiss Nixon’s hair. 

“Be careful, ok?”

“I always am, Gene.” 

\---------------------------------------------------

Winters finds him in the aid station a few days later, asking Gene to go check on Nixon. He’s just come back from his jump into Germany. 

It makes him uneasy that Winters is asking. But the Major actually looks worried and Gene can’t say no. 

He knocks on the door to Nixon’s room before letting himself in.

“Goddammit Dick, I said I –” Nixon stops, his tired, angry eyes on Gene. “Doc.”

It kind of hurts to look at him, Gene realizes. He drops his bag on the floor and takes a few steps closer. “You ok, Lew?”

Nixon pours himself a drink. “Go away, Gene. Please.”

“I’ve got to make sure you’re ok.” Gene swallows back the tightness in his throat, playing the one card he knows he has. “Winters asked me to.”

“Gene, right now I don’t give a fuck what Winters or anyone else wants. Leave me alone. Please.” When Gene doesn’t move because he can’t, Nixon slams his glass on the side table. “Goddammit Gene –”

“Fine,” Gene says, throwing his hands up in mock surrender and stepping back. “I’m going, Lew. You know where to find me.”

Gene leaves Nixon’s room and can’t decide if he’s worried, scared or angry. Part of him wants to go back and punch some sense into the man.

“Doc? How’d it go?” Winters asks, appearing from around a corner of the house.

“He’s physically fine, sir. Mentally… I don’t know.” Gene lights a cigarette with shaking hands. “He’s being an asshole right now.”

Winters sighs. “Ok. Thanks for checking on him, Gene. I thought if anyone could do something for him, it’d be you.”

Gene stills, a little alarmed at Winters choice of words. “Sir?”

“Nix seems to like you. I think you calm him down. And you’re a medic I trust.”

Gene doesn’t know what to say and he wishes Winters would stop staring at him.

“Thanks for checking on him, Doc. Appreciate it.”

Gene nods and walks away feeling Winters’ eyes on his back.

\---------------------------------------------------

That night Gene lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he could stop thinking about Nixon. The man’s probably fall down drunk right now.

There’s a slight knock on the door to his bedroom and he gets out of bed. “Yeah?” he says, pulling the door open. It’s Speirs.

“Get dressed, Doc,” he says in that soft, almost robotic way that’s just so _Speirs._

He wants to ask what’s happened but that would waste time. Throwing on a pair of pants and a shirt, he stuffs his feet into his boots and grabs his bag. 

Speirs ushers him outside and starts down the street.

“Who’s hurt, sir?” Gene asks. 

Speirs says nothing. A few steps later he stops in front of the officer’s house and Gene’s stomach drops to the ground. 

Light shines underneath Nixon’s door and Speirs gestures for Gene to go in. “Nixon’s almost drank himself sick,” Speirs tells him. “Sit with him tonight and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir.” Gene hesitates, his hand on the door knob, but when he looks over Speirs is already walking in the opposite direction. 

Nixon is sitting in an armchair, looking blearily out at the darkness, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He turns when Gene walks in the door. 

They stare at one another before Gene sits down on the bed, their knees inches away. 

“Hey,” he says. “You ok?”

“I’m drunk. So yeah, I guess I am.”

Gene reaches across to touch Nixon’s knee. “Lew –”

“You remember that night in Bastogne? When I asked if you thought I disappoint Dick?” Nixon asks, his words slow and careful. 

Gene nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You told me I couldn’t do anything to disappoint him. But I’ve stooped to a new low, Gene,” he says, laughing softly. Gene opens his mouth to speak but Nixon beats him to it. “You want to know the funniest part though? It’s not _him_ I’m afraid of disappointing. Not anymore.”

Gene stares at Nixon, knowing he’s drunk but hearing a truth that comes only from heavy drinking. It takes him a moment to speak. “Lew, I…”

Nixon slides his glass onto a side table and clambers into Gene’s lap, straddling his legs. Gene wraps his arms around him to keep from falling to the floor and thinks of Haguenau.

“I like you, Gene,” Nixon says, doing that smile-smirk thing he’s so good at before pushing Gene back. 

Gene stares up at the ceiling as Nixon slides onto his side and curls around him, his face pressed against Gene’s neck. 

Nixon is such a heavy, warm weight and Gene wonders when everything changed. When the most important person in his life turned out to be a drunk, dark haired, demoted Captain, and not a red head from Philly. 

He turns his head and presses his lips to that dark hair. “I like you, too, Nix.”


	9. Chapter 9

He dreams that night.

He’s pretty sure it’s Carentan, and he’s on his knees in the street, wrapping a man’s shoulder with a white white white bandage while a building blows up behind him. Debris rains down and he shields the man with his body.

He straightens and the moment slows – Nixon’s on his right, rubbing his back in wide strokes that don’t match the rhythm of the world around them. Gene tries to tell him to go but the ack-ack-ack of the machine gun around the corner drowns out his voice.

Gene jolts awake, wondering where the hell he is until the warm weight of Nixon’s arm across his chest brings him back.

Gray light seeps through the window and he turns his head, staring at Nixon’s silhouette. While he’s looking, the man opens his eyes.

“Morning,” Gene whispers.

Nixon grimaces and moves closer to rest his head on Gene’s shoulder. “Is it even morning yet?”

Gene laughs. “It’s close.”

“I’d ask what you’re doing here but I think I remember.”

“Speirs brought me over. Said you were drunk and left you in my lap.” At the time Gene didn’t really think twice about it but in the gray light of morning it seems strange. “Not sure why he picked me.”

Nixon shoves his face into Gene’s neck. “I think I mentioned you a few times. Drunk, y’know?”

He gets why Nixon’s got his face in his neck now. “Jesus, Lew. What’d you say?”

“Would you believe me if I say I don’t remember?”

“No.”

Silence settles over them and Gene sighs.

“I said I liked it when you’re around,” Nixon says, lifting his head so he can look at Gene as he speaks. “Speirs must’ve read between the lines.”

Gene leans in and kisses him. “You’ve got to pull yourself together, Lew. I know you’re going through some shit right now but – you’ve got to.”

Nixon doesn’t say anything and Gene finds him incredibly endearing at the moment with mussed hair and pillow lines on his face.

“You’ve got me, y’know?” Gene whispers, running his fingers through Nixon’s dark hair and messing it up even more.

“I’m never sure if I actually do,” Nixon replies. “There always seem to be red heads between us.”

Gene hasn’t thought of Heffron like that in a really long time. “My preference for red heads has kinda disappeared.”

Nixon chuckles and pulls at Gene until he’s lying underneath the man, their bodies lined up and fitting together.

“So no more red heads?” Nixon breathes, moving his lips to suck at Gene’s neck softly.

“Nah,” Gene says. He runs his hands up and down Nixon’s back. “I think I prefer drunk, black-haired men now.”

Nixon laughs and sits up, pulling at the buttons on Gene’s shirt. “Me too.” He grins down at Gene devilishly. “So you should drink more, Doc.”

A swell of something that feels close to fondness fills Gene’s chest and he pulls Nixon down for a kiss, shivering as the man’s fingers trail across his abdomen.

Clothes come off and Nixon sighs deep in his throat when he lays down between Gene’s legs, bare bodies touching and moving together and Gene feels his mind's cracking into pieces. When Nixon wraps a hand around both of their dicks and pulls, Gene muffles his cry into the man’s shoulder, biting down hard because he wants to leave a mark.

Nixon pulls Gene’s head to the side and retaliates by biting down on Gene’s neck, hard, then using his tongue to smooth the sting away.

“C’mon, Eugene,” Nixon whispers, pulling harder and slower and drawing out what life Gene has left. “With me, please,” he pleads.

Gene wraps a hand around the back of Nixon’s neck and breathes him in, their lips touching and it’s so messy and fierce and Gene feels like he might shatter.

They come together, bodies tense and shaking and afterwards, with Gene lying on Nixon’s chest and playing with the sparse hair he finds, he hopes that Nixon’s come back from where ever the hell he’s been.

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon sends a runner to him after they reach Berchtesgaden.

“Captain Nixon needs to see you,” the runner says, interrupting the discussion Gene had been having with Babe on the best way to drink a beer (chug or sip – Gene prefers the latter because he’s always sipped from Nixon’s flask.)

“He’s outside Goring’s house,” the runner informs Gene before leaving.

“Nixon calls for you a lot,” Babe comments as Gene tugs his bag on his shoulder. “Somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ us, Gene?”

Gene freezes – “What?”

“Nixon got a wound he’s hidin’ or somethin’?” Babe asks, grinning like it’s all a big joke and he hasn’t just given Gene a heart attack.

“Haha,” Gene says, pulling in a deep breath. “He’s been having some back problems. Last jump, y’know?”

Babe nods. “Heard it was a bad one.”

“Yeah,” Gene says. He turns and starts down the street. “I’ll see you later, Babe.”

Nixon’s waiting for him outside Goring’s house, his sunglasses on even though it’s dusk. “C’mere,” he says as a greeting, grabbing hold of Gene’s hand and pulling him towards a locked door on the side of the house. He pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, ushering Gene inside and down a set of stairs.

“Lew, what’s going on?” Gene asks, feeling the excitement emanating from Nixon.

He stops in front of another door and pulls Gene to him, kissing the line of his jaw. “You ready?” he asks, grinning.

Gene laughs. “I don’t know – am I?”

Nixon opens the door to the largest wine cellar Gene’s ever laid eyes on. It’s huge, got to be at least a thousand or more bottles – “Jesus Christ, Nix.”

The man’s so excited about his find he doesn’t call Gene out on the name. “Dick found it.” Nixon walks over to a rack and picks out a bottle that looks old and dusty. “Amazing sight, isn’t it?”

Gene laughs and reaches out to touch the bottle Nixon’s holding. “I’ve never seen you so excited,” he says, grinning.

“Probably because I’ve never seen a wine collection like this before. Goring’s personal stash.” Nixon puts the bottle back and pulls Gene to him, wrapping his arms around Gene’s waist. “Ever done it in a wine cellar before?” he asks, grinning.

“What? Lew, we can’t –”

“Who says we can’t? No one knows we’re down here, the door’s locked.” He backs Gene up against the wall and starts pulling at the buttons on his trousers. “How much more privacy do you need, Doc?”

Gene knows it’s pointless to argue because Nixon’s going to do whatever the hell he wants, and when he’s like this – a kid in a candy store – Gene can’t say no. So he pulls Nixon in and tries to keep quiet as the man does dreamlike, crazy things to him.


	10. Chapter 10

Gene’s with Babe down at the lake, watching the wind blow across the water in ripples. They’re not talking, just sitting in a comfortable silence and Gene ruminates on how easy it is to be around Babe now.

“When do you think they’ll have us start training again?” Babe asks, breaking the silence with the one thing Gene doesn’t want to talk about. “Like for real training.”

“I don’t know. Hoping they give us a breather since this one just ended,” Gene says honestly, laying back and crossing his arms under his head. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Babe turns and smiles down at Gene, his head blocking the sun and surrounding his head in a red halo. “You can ask Nixon and I’ll promise not to tell.”

Gene shifts on the bank, uncomfortable. “For some reason I don’t believe you.” He closes his eyes and wishes Babe would change the subject.

“How’s Nixon’s back?” Babe asks, laying down beside Gene.

“Better.”

“That’s good.” Babe lights a cigarette, takes a drag then passes it over to Gene. “Wonder if we’ll jump into Japan. Gotta be a lot different over there. Been watchin’ the newsreels.”

“Medic’s carry guns over there, I heard,” Gene says. “Haven’t shot a gun since basic training.”

“That’s bullshit. I don’t understand why you don’t have enough points. You been around since the beginning.”

“Never been wounded or gotten a medal. That’s how.” Gene sits up and rests his arms on his bent knees.

“Doesn’t seem very fair.”

Gene smirks. “Welcome to the Army, Babe.” He crushes the cigarette out and when he looks up, Babe’s staring at him with a wry smile. “What?”

“You’ve been hanging around with Nixon too much,” Babe says. “Swear that grin coulda been his.”

He doesn’t know what to say but is saved from replying when Babe glances down at his watch.

“Shit. I gotta go,” he says, hauling himself to his feet. “I’m supposed to be helping Lip sort through the mail. I’ll see ya later, Eugene.”

“See you,” Gene says, turning to watch Babe run up the hill towards town. Once he’s crested over the top Gene turns back and stares once again at the lake. 

He thinks about going for a swim but getting down to his underwear seems like too much of an effort. So he lays back and closes his eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------------

“Wake up.”

Gene grunts but doesn’t move.

“C’mon, Doc, wake up.”

For a second he forgets they’re not in combat and sits up so fast his head spins. “Wha –?”

“Hey,” Nixon says, squatting down and grabbing Gene’s shoulder. “It’s ok, it’s just me.”

“Sorry,” Gene mutters, resting his head on Nixon’s shoulder. “I thought we were in Bastogne for a second there.”

“Too hot for Belgium,” Nixon says, smiling. He sits down and pulls his flask out. “Hell of a view.”

Gene lights a cigarette, still fighting off the sensation of being somewhere else. “We’ve seen a lot of them.”

“You have a favorite?” Nixon asks.

He’s never thought about it, but really, there’s no other answer. “That first jump – the horizon. Not sure if I’ll ever forget that.”

Nixon laughs, a faraway smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

“What about you?” 

“Ahh, I don’t know,” he says, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. “I keep thinking I’ve picked a favorite but, well… they just keep getting better.”

Gene presses his arm against Nixon’s for a moment, wanting to touch him and tired of holding back. 

“I’ve got the house to myself tonight,” Nixon says, leaning on Gene. 

Gene grins. “Oh yeah? How’d that happen?”

“Not sure. I’m inclined to call it a miracle.”

“I’ve heard they can happen, miracles,” Gene says, enjoying the teasing atmosphere between them.

Nixon smiles, his gaze on the lake. “You going to do something with that information I just passed on?”

Gene doesn’t hesitate in answering. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Good.”

\---------------------------------------------------

He’s already tipsy by the time he gets to Nixon’s room. 

Nixon has a drink waiting for Gene, and he has enough time to empty the glass before he's being pushed against the door, Nixon using his hips to keep Gene in place. 

They don’t make it to the bed, not that time. Clothes are still on, just unbuttoned and pulled down to reveal the more important spots. Nixon groans in his ear, periodically biting the skin along his jaw as they pull at one another. 

Gene lets out a low groan when he can’t hold it back anymore, and then it’s Nixon shaking against him, saying his name. 

Nixon pulls him to the bed afterwards, and they lay on their backs drinking whiskey and smoking cigarette after cigarette, the room hazy in the low light. 

They talk about nothing. Or maybe it’s everything. 

His head’s swimming when Nixon stubs his cigarette out and crawls on top of him, using his arms and legs to pin Gene down, then roll him over on his stomach when they’re both ready. Gene shakes when Nixon uses his fingers, then grips the sheets and groans softly when he uses something else, something hard and smooth. 

“Gene,” Nixon whispers, his hips moving in slow circles that make Gene gasp. “You – you’re so tight… I don’t want to stop.”

He can’t decide if he wants Nixon to stop or keep going so he pulls in a deep breath and whispers, “Lew.”

But then Nixon’s pulling him so he’s on his knees and his hand is slithering down and around and now Gene’s gasping for a different reason. 

He’s been with women before but there’s no comparison, not really. 

This is what he thinks about later – smoke and sweat and being so close to someone it seems they’re one person. 

He had no idea it could be like this.


	11. Chapter 11

Once he’s back home, in the sweltering heat of Louisiana (hot, even though it’s all but Thanksgiving), he thinks back to those last couple of months he had with Nixon – _Lew._

Those were some of the best moments he had in Europe. Without a doubt.

He misses all the men. Misses the way everything was so easy. He misses Heffron and the way he’d grin at Gene. He misses Spina and his knitted cap, misses the quiet way Speirs had about him.

And he misses Lew so much it’s like a dull ache.

Nixon stayed behind in England an extra week after Gene left. They had one last tryst in an abandoned church – they both laughed at the irony of it – but as they were leaving, Nixon pulled him into a bone crushing hug and there was something about the way he breathed, long and slow, like he was holding something back. When they parted they didn’t exchange sappy goodbyes or any of that bullshit. They just looked at each other, their emotions on their faces and really – that was all they needed.

One afternoon, sitting on his parents’ back porch and trying to decide what the hell to do with his life now, Gene admits that he didn’t think this is how their little affair would end.

They were sad men once upon a time, holding on to each other because of unrequited love on both their parts, but it grew into something else. Something sweet and real. And now Lew’s gone and Gene’s not sure how to move on.

Some days he wants to forget about it and other days he wants to lose himself in the memories.

\---------------------------------------------------

Christmas has come and gone and it’s that week before New Year’s when everyone’s settling down from the holiday cheer before ending the year with a bang.

He checks the mail one afternoon, finds an envelope post marked from New Jersey. It’s thick, like there’s something more than a letter inside.

There’s a bottle of whiskey – not Vat 69 but it’ll do – in his room, and he takes a drink before opening the envelope. There’s a letter, a photograph, and a train ticket.

The photo is of the two of them standing on a hillside in Austria that someone must’ve taken without them knowing. It shows their backs, with a side profile of Nixon grinning over at him. He smiles and runs his fingers over the glossy picture.

Feels like another world.

The train ticket is to Nixon, New Jersey, from Baton Rouge, leaving December 30th.

He unfolds the letter.

_Gene,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I imagine you’re glad to be back in Louisiana._

_I’m not the greatest letter writer – probably should’ve just called but when I saw this photograph I wanted you to have it._

_And I wanted to see if you’d come to New Jersey and spend New Year’s with me. I’m sure you saw the train ticket. No pressure – I understand if you’ve got other plans. I’ll be at the station when the train arrives, just in case._

_There’s a few things I wanted to write, but I think I’ll just wait till I see you. Whether that’s on New Year’s Eve or another time._

_Hope to see you soon, Gene._

_Lew_

He reads the letter a few more times and realizes half way through the third reading he’s smiling. And he can’t stop.

\---------------------------------------------------

It’s a long train ride – almost a full day of traveling. But he’s got a suite all to himself thanks to Nixon.

The weather gets colder and colder the further North he goes, and once he’s in Northern Virginia Gene pulls a sweater out of his bag and slips it on.

When the train makes a stop in Philadelphia, he throws a jacket on. And a scarf. The cold takes him back to Bastogne.

He’s nervous and trying not to show it when the train stops at the station just before Nixon, New Jersey. He gets out to stretch his legs and smoke a cigarette in the frigid air, trying not to shake with cold and show how much of a southern boy he really is.

It starts snowing as he stands on the platform, tiny little flakes that swirl around in the wind. He reaches a hand out and catches one, watches as it melts, and he thinks about blue fabric, a splintered palm and a flask.

The town of Nixon is half an hour away, and he spends most of that time staring out at the snowy landscape and trying not to think about what’s waiting for him. It’s got him shook up, his stomach in knots.

The train slows, goes to a crawl and Gene watches a large platform slide past his window. He doesn’t see Nixon, but the station seems to be on the larger side. The man could be anywhere. 

Gene steps off the train, his bag clutched in his hands and he’s looking, eyes scanning the small crowd. He spots Nixon at the far end, hands in his long overcoat and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s wearing a suit, tie loosened around his neck and that’s when he smirks. 

It's like the crowd parts for Gene as he walks towards Nixon. He feels giddy, something he hasn’t experienced since that first jump and God, the rush. 

“Lew,” he says, his voice full of relief and, knowing they’re in a public place, instead of hugging him like he wants, he sticks his hand out. 

Nixon takes his hand before pulling Gene into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Doc,” he whispers against Gene’s hair.


	12. Chapter 12

There’s a grandfather clock in the hall just inside the front door – it’s the first thing Gene sees. And one of the only things he sees for a while. 

Nixon’s pulling at his arm as soon as the door closes and Gene turns, their mouths meeting. They kiss and kiss and kiss as Nixon presses Gene against the door. 

Everything’s so heavy with tension and Gene pushes back against Nixon and Nixon pushes Gene into the door, hard. The thump seems to echo down the hallway and they fight for dominance. 

Nixon wins the fight when he drops to his knees.

“Lew,” Gene whispers, grabbing hold of that thick hair as a swell of something he can’t put a name to washes over him. 

It’s at this second he wonders if one can actually die from too much pleasure. 

After, Nixon stands and Gene reverses their positions, pushing him roughly against the door and kissing him harder when Nixon groans. 

Gene returns the favor, holding tight to Nixon’s bare thighs and drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can. 

Nixon falls to his knees afterwards, arms slipping around Gene’s waist. They breathe in tandem, one chest rising as the other falls and Gene can’t help it – he starts laughing. 

It only takes a second before Nixon joins in. 

“Jesus, Lew,” he whispers, thinking about that long train ride and how he wondered what was going to happen once they were alone – he honestly didn’t think they’d just barely make it in the front door. 

Nixon kisses him, muffling their laughter. His fingers slide up the back of Gene’s hair. “Hey, Doc.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon hands Gene a glass of whiskey. 

“Thanks,” Gene says, knocking back a mouthful of Vat 69 as a litany of memories hurtle back at the taste. He walks towards the window and stares out at the swirling snow. 

They’re in the library, the fire crackling in the background. Nixon sits in a leather armchair, his legs crossed and whiskey balanced on his knee. His eyes follow Gene as he moves around the room, looking at the hundreds of books on the shelves. 

“When’d you get back?” Gene asks, breaking the silence. 

“Thanksgiving. You?”

“A few weeks earlier.” Gene takes another sip from his glass. “Where did the picture come from?”

Nixon chuckles. “Harry. Apparently he found a camera in one of the houses in Zell am See and used up the film.”

Gene’s circled the room now, and he stops at the fire place, a few feet from where Nixon sits. “It’s a good picture,” he says softly. 

“I thought so too.” Nixon reaches out and takes Gene’s hand, pulling him closer. They stare at one another, what seems an entire book of unspoken words between them. 

Gene twirls his empty glass in his fingers and smiles softly. 

\---------------------------------------------------

They ring in the New Year drunk, naked and covered in a slight sheen of sweat in Nixon’s bed. 

“Happy New Year,” Nixon says, his face covered in flickering shadows from the fireplace across the room. 

Gene draws him closer. “Happy New Year, Lew.”

Nixon presses him into the mattress, using his knee to open Gene’s legs. He ducks his head, finds that spot on Gene’s neck he seems to like and sucks lightly. 

“’m glad you came,” Nixon whispers against his skin. “I love you, y’know?”

If he feels the shiver that runs across Gene’s body he doesn’t comment. Gene pulls in a deep breath, not sure if he can even respond in words that make sense. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I know all about it.”

They kiss softly, languidly, rubbing against one another and afterwards, spooning under the covers, Gene kisses the back of Nixon’s neck. 

“Love you too, Lew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for all the love for this story.
> 
> You mean the world to me.
> 
> And TheResearcher - thank you again for all your kind words and for always being there. Sending love and hugs your way. xo


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